Tag Archives: fiction

Peace and Contentment Via Unmindfulness

3 Unmindful Reflections

Being Unmindful

I’m sitting on the front terrace of the Landmark Hotel. Just finished a cup of orange sherbet, which allows me to sit here all day admiring the ebb and flow of Sukhumvit Road and the characters that pass through. My mind is on nothing. Just enjoying the day, scene, breeze, and I only think when I want. Gazing is peaceful. No hurry, no need to chase.

Gazing and Grazing

This moment is timeless. It’s about gazing pointlessly and sensing a vague nuance of dopamine edging me, suggesting that I am on a good track; and in a good place; a good spot —  in my life. It’s about enjoying whatever comes into view; and at times, and for extended moments, allowing the eyes to rest on something — anything; it’s all beautiful and interesting: the seeming lifelessness of a water fountain, the clarity of the enormous banana leaves swaying nonchalantly in the breeze, whichever way it takes them. The leaves move together, but also in solitude. They bend and perform the river-like dance of going with the flow so they can return another day. They don’t break; they are in it for the long haul, like me — by just being. Gazing. Grazing with the beauty that surrounds us.

The Coffee is Good

Sitting on a side street outside of San Jose, Costa Rica. The coffee is good. From the small café table, I have a view of the barrio. A dented soda can lies in the dirt in front of me. The sun is reflecting off it, caressing both the can and me; welcome warmth on a cool morning. A four-year-old girl appears from nowhere, breaking my hypnotic gaze on the can. Her expression says, “I’m here.”  She gives the can a kick and throws her arms in the air, turning to see my expression. I give her a thumbs up and she responds with a smile. The coffee is good.

The ocean in cold season

It’s almost as good as a funeral or near-death experience in leading one to re-evaluate a life trajectory. The expanse. The horizon whispers there is more, but it’s untouchable in the present moment. So, you go internal — to find your own horizon in the depth of your soul and you get a glimpse of who you really are.

My Life — Don’t You Wish

My childhood was a kaleidoscope of paralegal experiences.

My father was a modern slave

Posing as a drum-playin’ factory workin’ chicken farmer

From a part of Pennsylvania that just recently got electricity.

He was partial to low grade blow-ups

And had a penchant for hunting two-legged dear,

As well as the conventional four-legged versions.

My mother was an eighteen year old English hair-stylist named Bernice

Who was addicted to Sealtest ice cream and veal scaloppini.

My father would chase pigs around the neighborhood,

Drink Rock N’ Rye whiskey,

And claim that he had been a champion pole-vaulter.

We’d beg him to take us to the Brown Derby

For a chocolate-dipped ice cream cone

And he would say, “Let’s not and say we did.”

We’d tell him that he wasn’t as smart as he thought

Because he wasn’t rich —

And he would just put on a Ralph Kramden smile

and say, “Don’t you wish.”

I spent summers pretending to read comic books

On the neighbor’s front porch,

Begging for spare change from used furniture buyers,

And picking strawberries.

I had a secret place under the porch

Where I learned to meditate and plan my life.

I ran away when I was seven —

Was detained by the railroad police

While loitering around the switchyard,

Then sent to bed with no dinner.

At the age of eight I smoked my first cigarette,

At eleven my first cigar,

Kissed my first lover at twelve,

And stole home at thirteen.

I was able to escape from America when I was eighteen

By impersonating a sub shop owner,

And became a world citizen

After breaking every taboo described in The Book of the Dead.

I learned to trade by losing my shirt 42 times

And by doing marketing work for GeeMeeBeeMee Enterprises.

Eventually I became a trading consultant

After racking up over 5 million Mauritian rupees in unrealized gains.